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Our role model, Scarlet Woman in Training, http://scarletintraining.blogspot.com/, warns us that one of the great mercantile giants of our time, Good Vibrations, is teetering on the brink. She kindly points us towards a story from the SF Chronicle (not normally where I would turn for the poop on dildo purveyors, but there it is.) chron story

This must not be allowed to pass. GV is more than a merchant, they are heroes. They were one of the elements that helped drag us out of the shame and murk of sex into the (very slightly) brighter time we have now. They can’t be allowed to just go out of business, they deserve better. Plus, I still haven’t gotten my artificial butthole from them.

The Heart of the World

From Guy Maddin, the genius who brought you Sissy Boy Slap Party.

Put A Spell On Who?

1) I love Sonique and her tough girl voice.

2) I love the song 'Put a Spell on You.' because Screamin' Jay Hawkins was insane.

3) I love this video. If I ever pulled a big heist, I'd be sure to dress me and my bitches up in tight little miniskirts and bustiers, just cause.

Pee Wee Giant Underpants

The world is a lesser place without Pee Wee.

Misplaced Passion

Four years ago, I was very taken with a passion flower vine a friend had in her back yard. Dense, shiny green foliage and the most breathtaking big, coral blossoms, just the sort of drag-queeny plant I always fall for. I got one and meticulously trained it along our patio fence. And by “meticulously” I mean I spent about twenty minutes one afternoon shoving it into a trellis and then stepped back and wished it a hearty good luck. My gardening techniques may not be a testimony to quiet good taste, but they do show how well autopilot works in a San Francisco yard.

Certainly, the passion flower seems to have taken to benign neglect vigorously. It covered the fence, it covered a big ol’ ligustrum bush, it has sent shoots thirty feet up into the yard to threaten a punky little oleander, and has become the bane of my neighbor’s yard. Brilliant coral flowers appear in the most unlikely spots all over the place. The only location they absolutely refuse to bloom is on the trellis where I trained it. Why? Because it’s perverse, that’s why. Bastard.

By the way, the name passion flower refers not to fleshly lust, but rather to the passion of Our Lord and Savior, Whatshisname. Some doubtlessly repressed Jesuit botanist named it. He saw the vine and flowers in symbolic terms: the pistils representing the crown of thorns, the thirteen petals the apostles, the tendrils the flail they beat him with…. I’m sure he could have worked in Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, Grumpy, Bashful and all the rest, but probably got so distracted pulling runaway vines out of his neighbor’s iris bed, he just never got around to it.

Officer, Could I Borrow Your Tongue for a While?

ok, ok, ok, I swear I am not obsessed with Sen. Craig, but a friend just sent me a shot of the cop who busted him and suddenly the good senator's lapse in judgement becomes much more understandable:

tap, tap, tap

Play Spot the Homo. Win Fabulous Prizes.

Siegmund Heil, a conservative booger, sorry, blogger, reports on the matter of Sen. Larry Craig, the tearoom lurking, busted, disgraced and not very cute Senator from Idaho: “We must rally around Senator Craig and not allow him to be destroyed. Senator Craig is virtuous and truthful Christian. I can spot a homo at 50 paces and if Senator Craig were a homo pervert, I would be the first to demand his resignation.”

Amazingly, I too can spot a homo at 50 paces; it’s a little known talent I have honed over the years of looking for them. Actually, I can do it at more than 50 paces and can sometimes sniff ‘em out around a corner, but unlike Siggy, I don’t like to brag. It’s so unladylike.

My fans ask, “How, mrpeene, how can you do this? Tell us your secrets, we beg you.” Well, first there’s the passion amongst fruitcakes for fashion. Often, they will even shave their heads in order to fit in among the stylish set. Then there is the smirking, come-hither expression they hone to perfection, curving their consciously luscious lips into an inviting smirk. Finally, poofter poses are almost always a dead give-away; for example, they will often press their palm to the back of their neck in order to flex their bicep, give a peak of their nasty little pit and simultaneously pay homage to one of the icons of their perversion, the Betty Grable pin-up look. A demonstration, below:

Obviously, queer as Paul Lynde’s hairdresser. It’s also Siegmund Heil. Cute huh? Well, you know, for a moron, anyway.

http://www.siegheil.us/blog/_archives/2007/8/28/3190512.html